


Which comes first

by ukenceto



Category: Gears of War (Video Games)
Genre: Bad Puns, Gen, Humor, Puns & Word Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukenceto/pseuds/ukenceto
Summary: This is literally a gears ficlet involving a rooster and a bad joke that wouldn't let me go until I wrote it down.





	Which comes first

A sudden crescendo tore him from the thick haze of sleep, his instinct overruling any other thoughts as he found himself sitting up from the ground, lancer already pointed towards the barred door. He was straining to catch even the slightest sight of movement that would signal him to empty half a clip in that direction.

 

“What the bloody fuckin-“ Finger barely ghosting over the trigger, he swore loudly, noticing the rest of his squad didn’t seem as perturbed as him, although they were certainly showing signs of being roused awake.  

 

“Calm down Baird, it’s just a cock.” Marcus grumbled from somewhere underneath the duvet next to him, the top of his head barely visible in the dusk.

 

A stunned silence followed, in which nothing but the somewhat croaky sounds of the said bird outside passed through the shack’s thin walls.

 

About three deep breaths in, and just as his heart had stopped hammering so wildly into his chest, Cole’s booming laugh filled the room. He was followed closely by Dom, who almost rolled off the sofa with a yelp, still laughing through it.

 

“Hahahah yeah baby, that’s what he said!” Cole managed to yell out with his characteristic enthusiasm, before succumbing to another laughing fit.

 

Baird could feel the corner of his eye twitching a bit while he slid the safety back on and let himself fall back down on top of his sleeping bag. He wondered what sort of evil deeds he must’ve done in a past life to deserve this.

 

“Someone go see where it goes, we might find some eggs.” Dom added from his spot at the edge of the sofa, rubbing at his face.

 

“Last time I checked, roosters didn’t lay eggs, genius.” Baird snapped back at him, glad for the relative darkness of the room which hid the flaming red of his face.

 

If there were any pillows, Dom would’ve undoubtedly chunked one in Baird’s general direction, but things being as they were he just made a rather straightforward gesture towards him instead.

 

“Yeah, but where there’s a rooster, there’s ought to be hens too. Or we could just have chicken soup for breakfast.”

 

“We almost did, given that Baird nearly shot it through the wall.” Marcus added, his tone a tad lighter with amusement.

 

“Oh that wouldda’ been a lead on. You know, really fortified, good for the bones.” Cole snickered, moving out of the way of the foot Baird tried to land on him.

 

“Guys, come on, drop it already.” Baird grumbled, staring at a crack running through the rickety ceiling. They were in the middle of nowhere after all, holed up in an abandoned farmhouse as the Packhorse had hit something on the road the previous night, its wheel shaft split nearly in two. It was repairable, but not while there was razorhail overhead.

 

So they’d added tripwire sensors to the door and went to sleep, as for once locust activity in the area was curbed by the said storm. But as the wildlife indicated, the weather had cleared out and it was almost dawn.

 

“Ok guys, tone it down. Let’s eat and get ready to go, we still have the Zeta outpost to check up on.” Marcus had untangled himself from the sleeping bag and was already dressing. “Baird, you’re sure you can get that Packhorse up and running before noon?”

 

 

“Pf, thought you’d know better by now. It’ll run alright, much sooner at that.” He didn’t try to sound… cocky, as he would need to take most of the said vehicle apart first to repair it. But after Marcus’ earlier, even if unintended jab, Baird felt he still had his feathers ruffled.

 

 

Maybe once Dom brewed some coffee (seriously, the guy always carried a coffee pot which fit on the portable gas burner) and they potentially found breakfast that wasn’t in ration form, he could feel a bit better, yeah. But until then, he resorted to shaving and pretending not to notice the occasional chuckle which the others failed to conceal.

 

_It was going to be a long day._


End file.
